Human Nature
by WhyAye
Summary: L & H encounter a violent murderer. Hathaway's mother meets Lewis, & she seems to want to get much closer w/him. Most is K-plus, M for graphic murders based on real cases; my imagination is not that sick! More new chapters up; this time it's done!
1. Chapter 1

Friday afternoon was always better when there was no case left hanging over the weekend. And even though it was not _quite_ quitting time, D.I. Robert Lewis and D.S. James Hathaway were shutting down their computers and clearing off their desks.

"Hathaway, I was wondering if you'd want to come 'round for dinner on Sunday. Someone gave me a rabbit and I thought I'd try out something I learned in that cooking class. Only a rabbit's too big for just me and I'll have to have it for my next four dinners if I can't get anyone to share it."

"You? Rabbit?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I learned a lot in that class, for your information."

"Well, the thing is . . . See, my mother's staying with me this week. Had some sort of a plumbing issue at her house in London yesterday and in a weak moment I told her she could stay with me until it's been repaired."

"Your mother? Just her, not your dad?"

"They're separated."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Have been for years. But divorce is out of the question as far as they're concerned."

"Anyway, she's welcome, too, then. Three would be even better."

"You're sure? She can be pretty formidable."

"Well, at least we'll outnumber her, right?"

"In theory."

* * *

Lewis jumped when the doorbell rang late Sunday afternoon. He was nervous enough that he had everything ready ahead of time and was left with little to do but fidget. If it had just been James he would have been much calmer. He couldn't believe it had seemed like a good idea to invite a total stranger to his house for dinner, especially one so close to his partner.

He let them in and Hathaway led the way to the front room. "Mum, this is my boss, Robert Lewis. Sir, my mother, Louise Hathaway." She was tall, as Lewis expected, and about his own age. Her features were a bit too long to be considered pretty, but she had a kind of quiet elegance he rather liked. Yet he also sensed she had an inner core of steel and could hold her own in a contest of wills.

She smiled pleasantly. "Robert."

"Robbie, Ma'am, please. Very nice to meet you. Can I get anyone a glass of wine?"

The dinner went surprisingly well. Hathaway could scarcely believe how delicious it was. Lewis had simmered the rabbit in white wine, with mustard and parsley, and it was so tender it nearly fell off the bone. Steamed asparagus and boiled new potatoes rounded out the meal. The conversation had been mostly about the advantages and disadvantages of living in Oxford, as compared to London, and had been quite pleasant. By the time the second bottle of wine had been opened, Lewis was laughing and thoroughly enjoying himself. He felt a glow of pride from how well the rabbit had turned out, and Louise's sense of humor was refreshingly frank. Although he could tell she had far more education than he did, she never said anything that made him feel it mattered. And James seemed more relaxed as the dinner progressed. If he thought his mother was going to say something to embarrass him, he was proven wrong. She seemed nothing but proud of him in everything she said.

Hathaway helped Lewis clear the dishes and get the coffee. James looked at him inquiringly, eyebrows raised, but the open design of the flat made private conversation impossible and they did not exchange any comments. Lewis just smiled back.

When the coffee was done and the evening at an end, they rose to leave.

"I've really enjoyed meeting you, Robbie. It's nice to have a face to put with your name. James talks about you a great deal, but you're not as I imagined. He never mentioned how delightful you are." She bussed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you for a lovely meal." And she swirled out the door, with James hurrying to catch up. "Goodnight, Sir!"

As Lewis went back to the kitchen to start cleaning up, he subconsciously touched his cheek. It felt as if it was tingling.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was just coming up on Rose Terrace in the Rose Hill Council Estate when the two Vauxhalls, one dark blue, one silver, braked to a stop at nearly the same time. There was a section of the street cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape, a crew in white coveralls crawling over the area with flashlights, and a blue plastic sheet in the middle of the street, covering something about the size of a human body.

Lewis and Hathaway nodded in greeting to each other, and Dr. Laura Hobson approached the pair. "I have to warn you, this is more gruesome than we usually see. Whoever did this was either very angry or very intoxicated or both." As they approached the sheet, Hathaway noticed the SOCOs nearby moving away a bit, as if they wanted some distance between them and the body when the sheet came off.

Dr. Hobson stood on the far side of the body and with one swift move pulled the sheet away completely, revealing a naked man lying on his back. The two men recoiled visibly, Hathaway grabbing Lewis's arm for support and jerking his head around, unable to look. Lewis stared, unable to look away. "_Bloody hell_," was all he could say.

"As you can see," Laura began, "there are multiple stab wounds, probably made with a four- or five-inch knife. I'd estimate he was stabbed around a hundred times. Then here, on his abdomen, the killer carved—let's just say 'the F-word'—into his flesh. And, as I'm sure you've noticed, cut off his . . ." she gestured, "and stuffed it into his mouth."

"Would he have been already dead by then?" Lewis's voice was barely audible.

"Not necessarily. Obviously, this was not done here in the street, there's no blood to speak of, and most likely he would have screamed a fair bit. And I'd put the time of death at between two and four this morning."

"Okay, I think we've seen enough. Hathaway, organize a house-to-house and I'll—" He broke off. "Hathaway? You're hurting my arm."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

It was afternoon before they were back at the station together. They had very little up on the white board so far. Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent was shaking her head.

"No identification, no witnesses. No one saw _anything_ except the motorist who called it in?"

"That's what they're saying, though it's not the most cop-friendly neighborhood. The PCs reported most people would not even answer the door."

"Lewis, don't you have an informant or two out there?"

"I'm going to try to find them tonight, but right now it's too early to go looking."

"Could this have ties to organized crime? This seems like the sort of thing you see with drug lords or the Russian Mafia."

"Could be anything at this point, Ma'am."

"Well, you two be careful. Lewis, if you go by yourself tonight, make sure there's uniform nearby at all times."

They each grabbed a mug of tea on their way back to the office, then sat sipping a while at their desks. Finally, Lewis broke the silence.

"That's an image that'll take a long time to fade."

Hathaway shuddered. "It would help if we had anything to go on."

"We'll put out an appeal as soon as we get Hobson's official report. But I doubt it will reveal anything we don't already know." He paused a moment. "I don't suppose your mother will be happy when she sees the nasty kind of things we make you deal with."

"Not a bit. And if we don't get any leads this evening, I will have the unpleasant experience of being in the same room when she sees the appeal on the telly. I don't suppose you'd like to go for a pint to get me out of it."

Lewis shook his head. "I have to record the appeal. And I should be here for a couple hours after it airs in case we get any viable leads. And then I need to see if I can scare up a snitch or two."

But he took the opportunity to change the subject. "You know, I thought your mother was really very nice. From the way you talk, I was expecting a dragon lady of some sort."

"She was on her good behavior. I know she can be quite charming, but that's her way of playing with her food before she eats it. Just don't cross her."

"So, if you're here and your dad lives somewhere else, is she just home alone in London all the time?"

"Hardly. She's very busy. She's involved in tons of causes and organizations and knows everyone. She's always doing things. And not just in London, she knows people everywhere. She even knows the Chief Super from something they're both members of."

Lewis winced. "Is that good or bad?"

"It hasn't caused me any problems yet, that's all I know."

They were interrupted by Dr. Hobson, calling to let them know the post-mortem report was ready. They headed over to the mortuary, both hoping they would not be required to view the body again. In this, they were fortunate. Laura had almost nothing to add to what they knew in the morning, except to confirm the man bled to death rather slowly from ninety-six stab wounds and his amputated organ; he had been bound and gagged with tape, then apparently transported wrapped in a wool blanket, and the tape was removed some time after he died.

"So, we should know probably by tomorrow if the DNA turns up a match anywhere." She concluded. "Sorry I can't be of more help at this point."

Hathaway tried one last push. "Doctor, I don't suppose you'd be available for a pint this evening?"

Lewis chuckled a bit. "He's trying to avoid going home. His mum is visiting and he doesn't want to be there when she hears about the horrific case that's getting his hands all dirty."

"Your mother is staying with you?" Laura couldn't hide how funny she thought that was. "I'm not sure I'd be willing to get you out of that even if I could. But sorry, no, I have a ream of overdue reports to get out."

Hathaway looked down. "It was worth a try."

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Louise Hathaway was _not_ happy to learn of the case in which her son was currently involved, even though of course the appeal did not describe the details of the victim's mutilation.

"Oh, James, how _dreadful_. This man was probably a drug dealer or dallying with someone else's wife. Why else would he end up murdered with no one willing to even identify him? What is to be gained by helping a man like that? He can't possibly have any family."

Hathaway sighed. "Mother, the point is to catch the killer. Not someone we want running loose around Oxford."

She was had no response to that. But a moment later, she had to raise what was an old subject between them. "You know, Darling, you have such potential to be a scholar. You're wasted in this work, if I may say so."

"Mum, you _may_ say so only because you're my mother. With anyone else, it would be considered bad manners. You know, most criminals think they won't get caught because they think they're too smart. What the police need are coppers who are smarter than the criminals. I'm proud of the work I do for the force. I know I make a difference. Inspector Lewis and I solve things no one else could even touch."

After a minute, she said quietly, "James, you can't heal the past by righting all the injustices of the present."

He looked away. "That's not what I'm trying to do."

"Isn't it?"

"My work gives me some actual ability to prevent human tragedy. I don't feel so helpless." He had always managed to avoid exploring why he found the work so satisfying. But he had to admit to himself the truth of the words that sprang to his lips.

Louise said gently, "No one can control tragedy, James. You're only adding to your guilt, fooling yourself into thinking you should have been able to prevent it when it happened to us."

"That's not true." But they both knew it was.

"Even now, your work doesn't _prevent_ tragedy, it only _avenges_ tragedy after it has occurred." She looked at him steadily. "For us, vengeance is pointless. It would only destroy what little we have."

"What _do_ we have, Mother?"

"Our self-respect. Awareness of our own inner strength."

"You, maybe. What did I do then that was strong or worthy of respect?" The self-loathing was evident in his voice.

"James, you were four years old!"

"Exactly. And I could do nothing. I was powerless." It was a feeling that had dominated his entire life. That only began to change the day he single-handedly, by the strength of his will and his arm, pulled a man through a high window, out of certain damnation and back into life.

"It's what you've done since then that you should be looking at. Look at the man you've become. Are you hostile? Violent?"

"No, of course not."

"Bitter?"

"No, not bitter." He began to see where she was going with this.

"Uncaring?"

"Sometimes I think I care _too_ much."

"See? You could have let yourself wallow in self-pity and anger, but you didn't. You picked yourself up and took control of your life. Your steadiness helped me a great deal back then, James, and it helped your sister, too. Even though you were just a child, you showed an inner strength beyond your years."

She smiled warmly at him. "And now when I look at you, I see someone who handles things with maturity and wisdom. Someone who understands other human beings and treats them with respect."

Hathaway snorted. "I'm just learning that part. And that's only because I finally found someone to teach me that: Inspector Lewis." Lewis had taught him to think through a situation before reacting, and how to anticipate the reactions of others. The lessons in human psychology he learned from Lewis were what made him dare to challenge Hugh Mallory's decision to kill himself that day at the high window. Hathaway's challenge saved Hugh's life, and possibly his soul. And since then, James had realized he _did_ have power over tragedy. James felt he reclaimed a part of his own soul that day, and from then on he had been able to squarely meet those ice-blue eyes he saw in his mirror. It wasn't the job he loved so much as the education he was getting. He would not willingly part with that.

Louise continued the conversation. "Now, see, Lewis is a perfectly good detective without wasting all that expensive education. The force needs people who are smart in the way he is, not people with learning in Latin and the classics."

"Part of the reason he and I make a good team is because we think in different ways. And he picked up a lot of learning in Latin and the classics by working fifteen years with an Oxford man of great intellect. He's not your average state-school product."

She looked very unsatisfied with his answer.

"James, _you_ should be the one spending years with Oxford men of great intellect, not with 'above-average state-school products.' Whatever could you learn from him that has any real value?"

_I've learned from him more about the nature of human beings and how to be a better one than I ever did in the two decades of expensive schooling I endured_. But he just said, "It's surprising the things I learn from him. Hard to quantify."

And he could not resist playing his trump card. "And besides, it's the first thing I've found that makes me really happy. I get a really good feeling at the end of the day when we've cracked another hard one. I know this is exactly the right work for me."

She smiled a little and shook her head. "Well, I suppose that's what's important. It does my heart good to see you smile."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Lewis was walking without particular direction through a less than salubrious part of the city. Even though uniform was not far, he was wary, and he tried to look inconspicuous and not very vulnerable. Eventually, a woman dressed a bit too scantily for the weather approached him.

"Hello, love, looking for something?"

He smiled in a friendly way. "Yes, I am. I'm looking for Ruby."

Immediately, her face went blank. "Never heard of no Ruby."

"Tell her that her favorite good cop Lewis would like a word with her. I'll be in the Plough and Sickle."

The woman snorted and moved away, and Lewis headed for the named pub. His eyes had to adjust to the darkness and his nose to the smell of unwashed bodies, stale beer, and worse. He found a place at the bar and ordered a double shot of Dewar's. What he received was pale straw colored, rather than the normal rich amber, and after he sat at a table he raised it to his nose and sniffed the contents. Curling his lip at it, he set it down on the table untasted.

After about an hour, he saw a small woman in a short, low-cut, red dress enter the pub. She looked around and eventually headed in Lewis's direction, staggering slightly. It took him a while to recognize her. The last time he had seen her, she was rather good-looking, if a bit overused, with beautiful long, blonde hair. Now her hair was dull, thin, and ragged, nearly bald in places. She was so thin, she could not have weighed more than eighty or ninety pounds. Her arms were blotchy with a rash that went from her hands up as far as her sleeves and probably beyond.

She sat down opposite him.

"Hard times, Ruby." It was a statement, not a question.

Instead of answering, she looked him up and down several times. Her eyes were reddened and unfocused.

"You lookin' for a shag, Inspector?" She flashed a jagged smile. Several of her teeth were missing and those that remained were decaying.

He tried not to let her see how repellent he found the suggestion.

"Not tonight, I'm working."

"So am I."

He allowed a half smile. "I need to find out about the body that was dumped on Rose Terrace this morning."

She looked away. "Don't know nothin' about no body."

"It's worth quite a bit to me, Ruby. I've always dealt fair with you."

She continued to avoid his eyes and was silent for a while longer. "It was Charlie Fuller was killed."

"He have any other names?" Lewis pushed the glass of purported whisky across the table to her. She swallowed it in a single, swift motion.

"Not that I know."

"Whoever killed him must have been either very angry or very heavily fueled. Or maybe both?"

She nodded just slightly.

"Why would anyone be that angry with him?"

"Maybe he was shaggin' someone's woman."

"Whose?"

She didn't answer.

"Ruby?"

She looked at him at last and saw he was holding a tightly folded twenty-pound note between his fingers. "Whose woman?"

She spoke very quietly, moving in across the table so close to Lewis that he was inhaling the pungent odor of her rotting breath. "I don't know his name. He's a quack. Supplies all the meth cookers with all the Sudafed they need, an' other things."

"But this was about the woman, and not drugs?"

"Charlie was never in the drug trade."

"Do you know who the woman is?"

Ruby eyed the note in his hand. A second one had joined it, almost as if Lewis was practicing sleight-of-hand card tricks.

"Julia. She lives on Rose Terrace near where they dumped Charlie. That's all I know." She snatched the money from Lewis's hand. "I don't want to end up like Charlie." She half ran from the pub.

Lewis got up from the table and went to the Gents' where he washed his hands as thoroughly as he could. Shaking them dry, he left the pub and headed back to the station.

He approached the duty sergeant.

"Is Inspector Haines in tonight?"

"She's out right now. The whole vice squad will be out all night, I expect. Apparently, there's some kind of power shift going on among the drug lords."

"Can you give her the message that I need to talk to her as soon as it's convenient? Thanks."

Lewis spent a few more hours trying to track down other informants but had no luck. The street people he approached seemed even edgier than usual, and none would talk to him. Finally, he gave up and went home for a few hours' sleep.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Hathaway had been at work for more than an hour by the time Lewis made it in, bleary-eyed and yawning.

"Insomnia again, Sir?"

"No, I slept pretty well, actually. Just didn't get to start until after two."

"Well, you missed all the excitement. There was a body left on the front steps of the station this morning."

"What, another one for us?"

"Innocent gave it to Grainger since we already have a case. But they might be related, so Grainger will be updating us as soon as he gets Hobson's report."

"Related? How?"

"Multiple stab wounds and the body was dumped. That's all they have in common at this point, so it's not a lot. Still, we don't get too many like this, especially not two in a row." Hathaway handed him a slip of paper. "Oh, and Inspector Haines called. She said you could call her back any time before ten."

Lewis punched the number into his phone. "Hi, Lizzy? Robbie Lewis. I need to find a medical doctor who's supplying the drug trade, including Sudafed to the local meth industry. Any ideas?"

Back when they were both sergeants, Lewis had worked with Lizzy Haines on a case involving drugs, rave parties, and teenage suicides. He liked her casual professionalism, and she had proven herself to be a skilled vice cop.

"Ah, you mean Doctor Who. We call him that because no one seems to know his name or where his base of operation is."

"Know anything about him at all? Is he capable of committing a very grisly murder?"

"A lot of people are very afraid of him. That's all I know, really."

"Okay, thanks. Let me know if you learn anything more, will you?"

"If you'll do the same for me. It would be great to lock him up for something that will get him off the streets for good. Bye."

Hathaway was looking curiously at Lewis. "Any joy, then, last night?"

"Our victim is supposed to be Charlie Fuller. Apparently, he was having an affair with a woman named Julia who lives on Rose Terrace where Charlie's body was dumped. She has a jealous boyfriend, this chap the vice squad calls Doctor Who. He's a medical doctor who hands out prescription medication to the drug dealers.

Hathaway's expression showed he appreciated the considerable information Lewis had learned during the night.

And then he noticed Lewis's wicked smile.

"How was your evening at home, then, James?"

Hathaway rolled his eyes. "Once again, I'm to quit the force and become a fusty scholar of something tedious. She never gives it a rest. Which reminds me, Sir. I was wondering if you'd like to go for a pint after work. I'm a free man all evening. My mother, it seems, has gotten herself a _date_ for tonight. Apparently, it didn't take her very long to dig up one of her friends in this area."

Lewis opened his mouth and then closed it again. He thought a moment more, then said carefully, "I, uh, can't tonight. Only, this is a bit awkward, but . . . it's me. _I'm_ Louise's date tonight." He checked Hathaway's stunned look. "I hope that's alright. I mean, I can cancel if it's a problem."

Hathaway blinked a few times. "Um, no it's fine. Just . . . really _weird_, though. When did you find the time to call her, anyway?"

"She called _me_, later on Sunday night. Said she wanted to thank me again. But that seemed like maybe an excuse, y'know? And I figured, no harm in asking, right? She said she used your phone to get me on speed dial. You must have left it unattended?"

"I took a shower when we got back home. That must be when she called you. I can't imagine what she sees in you, Sir. You're not at all her type."

Lewis took offense. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm not good enough for her?"

"Sorry, Sir, I didn't mean it that way. It's just . . . She likes to manipulate. Likes to play mind games. That's all I meant.'" James's expression indicated he was still working on his answer. "It's my belief that she enjoys hurting men, Sir."

"Hathaway, man, I'm a grownup, alright? I can take care of meself."

James added as an afterthought, "She is still married, you know."

Lewis tried not to sound too defensive. "I know. I'm just taking her out for dinner. I think we're both expecting just a nice evening with someone new for a change. I'll have her home early, I promise."

Hathaway just groaned.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

Around noon, D.I. Grainger and D.S. Kavanagh knocked on the open office door.

"Ah, Grainger, come on in. Hathaway's just gone for a smoke, but he should be back soon."

The two men came in, and Grainger shut the office door. "In fact, I was waiting until I saw him go. There's something I think you should hear first."

Lewis cocked his head inquiringly.

"The woman found on the front steps this morning was a prostitute and drug addict known as Ruby Richards. She was stabbed eighty-seven times and her eyelids and lips were glued shut with cyanoacrylate—Super Glue. When Dr. Hobson managed to get the victim's mouth open, she found the tongue was cut out and replaced by two twenty-pound notes stuffed in her mouth. And guess whose fingerprints forensics found on those notes?"

Lewis's eyes had grown wide as Grainger spoke. "_Bloody hell._ She grassed to me last night. I paid her the forty for it. She gave me some good leads."

Grainger turned to his sergeant. "See, Kavanagh? I told you Inspector Lewis wouldn't have paid her that much just for the pleasures of her flesh." Kavanagh chuckled a little.

The humor did not make Lewis smile, however. "Someone must have seen her talking to me. Hell, I should have been more careful, should have realized what we might be dealing with." He looked miserable. "She's dead because of me, isn't she?"

Grainger took a gentler tone. "Robbie, she was already dying of AIDS, according to Hobson. And the drugs would have killed her before much longer." He paused. Then, even more quietly, "You do realize that you may be in some danger, too, if you were seen talking to her. I'm sure it's no coincidence she was dropped on our doorstep. Though it may be the killer just guessed you were a cop and doesn't know who you are."

He gave Lewis a moment to absorb this, and then resumed a more normal tone. "Anyway, I can't hand the case over, because I have to consider you a suspect, even though I'm certain you didn't kill her. You were the last person known to see her alive, and your fingerprints are directly linked to her death. I'm sorry, Robbie. I hope you understand."

Lewis knew Grainger was right. He'd have considered himself a suspect if he were in Grainger's position. Or at least enough of a suspect that he could not be in charge of the case.

"I thought I'd let you make the decision about yesterday's Rose Hill murder, though. The two are probably linked, but if you and Hathaway want to work on it in tandem with me on this one, at least until a stronger connection is made, I'm fine with that. Or, if you feel you're in too much danger, I can take both cases. Your choice."

Lewis didn't have to think very long. "Let us stick with the Rose Hill case until we're sure they're connected. But I'll keep you up on everything we learn." He told them of the information Ruby had given him before her death.

Grainger gave a low whistle. "She must have wanted that forty quid pretty bad to give you that much. That'll shorten our inquiries by a few days. Thanks."

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

By mid-afternoon, Hathaway had worked out that Charlie Fuller had a past that was larcenous but basically free of violence, and that "Julia" was Julia Moore of 18 Rose Terrace. As they parked in front of the dingy flat, Hathaway felt like there must be at least a half-dozen people watching them, yet there was no one in sight. The air smelled of despair and rotting trash.

There was no answer to Lewis's knock on the front door, and they went around to try the back, Hathaway in the lead. He stopped short a few feet from the back door.

"Sir, that looks like blood." He pointed at the doorknob.

Lewis got close enough to sniff it. "I think you're right." He pounded on the door, but there was no answer.

"Break it down, Sir?"

"Hathaway, we can't just barge in there, man. We'll have to get a warrant."

An hour later, they were back, this time with uniform as backup. The door was forced and they called out as they entered. But there was no answer from anywhere in the flat. With the PCs guarding the front and back doors, the two detectives hurriedly checked the rooms. Nothing. As they were about to give up, Hathaway pointed to a small door off the kitchen.

"Where does that go?"

"I dunno. Just a closet?"

"No, look, Sir." His attention was focused on a small red smudge on the floor just in front of the door. Lewis put on the blue latex gloves they used at crime scenes, and turned the knob. The door opened onto a narrow stairway leading down into the cellar. Even from the doorway, the iron-and-raw-meat smell of blood was noticeable. "Awww, nooo," was all Lewis said.

He found the light switch and flipped it on. There were more red smears on the stairs and the railing. He bent over so he could see what was in the cellar without going down the stairs. Hathaway saw him close his eyes and clench his jaw. "Call for SOCOs. And Hobson. I think we may have found Julia."

They loitered upstairs while the team combed the cellar. There wasn't much in the flat, a few pieces of furniture, a few dishes, a few clothes. No mail, no pictures, nothing providing any sort of identification or personal information.

After some time, Dr. Hobson called them down to the cellar. The woman was clothed and she lay on her back on the concrete floor in a substantial pool of congealing blood. Hathaway bowed his head and laid his hands one over the other in front of him. Lewis got down to the level of the corpse, squatting on his heels. She probably had been good-looking, but blood and bits of flesh and bone were spattered everywhere.

"She's obviously been shot," Dr. Hobson began. "You can see this hole blown in her thorax. Now, Detectives, what do you notice about this hole?" She was a natural teacher, and it came to her so easily she was not always aware she was doing it.

"I notice a whole lot of blood," Hathaway contributed, still not looking directly at the body for more than a second or two. Hobson looked at him crossly.

Lewis studied the wound very closely. After a short time, he said, "That's an exit wound, isn't it?"

"Very good, Inspector. What should be your next question?"

"Where's the entrance wound?"

"I have my suspicions, but let's see how good a pathologist you are."

Lewis rolled the body on its side. But there was no injury on her back. In fact, there was not any blood on her back except at the edges, where she had lain in the pool.

"All this blood came out while she was lying on her back. She wasn't moved." He won a look of approval from the doctor.

"And the entrance wound, Inspector?"

He sat on his haunches a while, thinking. Then he lifted the woman's skirt up to her waist, revealing to anyone looking that there was blood on her underwear. Lewis looked at Laura inquiringly.

"You're getting warmer."

"You're thinking this isn't menstrual blood."

Hathaway winced internally. He was not used to hearing a man speak so frankly to a woman about female physiology.

Lewis parted the woman's legs a bit, and with one gloved finger moved the undergarment to one side. A bright red trickle oozed from her.

He closed his eyes. "Here. The entrance wound is inside her, here."

"Full marks, Lewis."

Despite his past assertions of nonbelief, Lewis muttered a quiet, "God, have mercy."

Then, swallowing hard, he faced Hobson. "He penetrated her with the barrel of the gun, and shot her while it was inside her." She nodded, her mouth set grimly.

He barely opened his mouth as he spoke, and Hathaway was not sure he had heard correctly. "What are you saying, Sir?"

"Hathaway, man, don't you get it? He fuh—" Lewis swallowed the expletive he wanted to say "—_raped her with his gun_." Lewis's face was twisted in revulsion and sympathetic pain. "And then he _shot_ the gun into her. The bullet ripped through her and blew its way out here." He pointed at the wound in her chest. "This is one sick—" his upper teeth stuck on his bottom lip, and he bit it hard "—bastard."

The cellar swirled around Hathaway momentarily, and he put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

Dr. Hobson looked at Lewis sharply. "No physical evidence connects this to either of the other two murders, at this point."

"Oh, come _on_, Doctor!"

"This is a pretty different method of killing. But we'll work up everything here. Report should be done sometime this evening, eight or nine?"

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

They drove back to the office in silence. The PCs were conducting another fruitless house-to-house, and there was really not much they could do until they got Laura's report.

Finally, Lewis packed up his work and started shutting down his computer.

Hathaway looked up. "Aren't you going to wait for Hobson's report?"

Lewis sighed. "Can't, can I? I have a date tonight." He looked over his partner critically. "You sure you're alright with this?"

"You're two consenting adults, it's really none of my business." But he couldn't resist asking, "Where are you taking her?"

Lewis assumed a rather lordly look. "Le Manoir. I wanted to get out of Oxford," he added, as if that justified the choice.

"_Seriously_? You know that will set you back three hundred quid with wine."

"I know. That's where I took that cooking class, y'know. Not very often I'll have a date who's appropriate to take there. Now I better go get ready. Call me if Hobson's report comes in, okay?"

"Sir, you are _not_ going to be discussing this repellant crime while having dinner with my mother. If Hobson calls, you better excuse yourself from the table. In fact, you better excuse yourself all the way out to the car park!"

Lewis grinned and went out. But Hathaway was not as comfortable as he appeared with the idea of Lewis taking Louise out to dinner. Especially Le Manoir. It was as if Lewis was trying too hard to impress her or to convince her he was something different from the salt-of-the-earth kind of man he was. Hathaway couldn't figure out why he was feeling so protective. And even more disturbing, he couldn't figure out whom he was trying to protect.

* * *

They had an exquisite dinner. Lewis selected roasted loin of lamb with a sweet garlic purée and Louise savored roasted duck breast with braised chicory and a velvety sauce of raisins and jasmine tea. Between the two of them and the multiple courses brought over the next couple of hours, the entire bottle of Krug Lewis had ordered disappeared.

Lewis had checked his mobile once when Louise excused herself momentarily from the table, and discovered the charge had run out. The four hours of sleep he had gotten that morning were enough to recharge him, but obviously were not enough for his phone. Well, it was unlikely there'd be anything that couldn't wait until he got home.

At last they were done and the very heavy check was paid. Lewis felt a twinge of guilt as he got behind the wheel when the valet brought his car. He was probably over the limit, and even if he wasn't, it was likely his driving was at least a bit impaired. But the warm glow he felt when Louise took his arm kept rational thought at bay.

He had never known anyone like her. She hopelessly outclassed him but she did not seem to pay that any mind, and so it likewise did not bother him at all. And despite her elegance and breeding, she was _fun_, not at all stuffy or condescending. Yet he also had the feeling she was not unfamiliar with human suffering, and he wondered how that had come to be. They hadn't talked very much about their personal lives. Besides, the idea that she knew what it meant to grieve only added to his opinion of her.

Fortunately, his innate driving skills allowed them to return to Oxford without incident. As they waited for a traffic light near the city center, Lewis looked over at her.

"I suppose I should take you home now."

She looked directly at him, smiling brightly. "Yes, take me home. Take me to _your_ home, Robbie. I'm not ready for this lovely evening to end."

The alcohol/endorphin/testosterone buzz in his brain made it easy to ignore the quiet voice of reason telling him this might not be the best idea. He pointed the car toward home, a happy smile on his face.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

Hathaway's phone did not ring until after nine. It was Lizzy Haines.

"Sergeant Hathaway? I've been trying to call Inspector Lewis but it seems his mobile is out of service. He said I could report to you if I couldn't reach him."

"Yes, that's right. So, what's up?"

"We've learned that our Doctor Who is a Doctor _Turner_, but that's as far as we've gotten. No first name, no specialty, no known place of business. There are at least a dozen Doctor Turners in the immediate Oxford area, and even more if we look a few miles farther afield. I figured the job of tracking them all down would go faster if you could put some of your DCs on it."

"Sure, no problem. I don't have too many here tonight, though, and it would probably be better to go knocking on doors in the morning, but we can at least put a list together over the next ten hours or so."

"Great, thanks! Give me a buzz when you have something. Cheers."

Hathaway stewed for a while, then eventually picked up his phone and tried Lewis's mobile number. As Haines had reported, the number showed up as out of service. Hathaway studied his phone uneasily. What would Lewis be up to that he would decide to turn off his phone? Especially when he knew that at least Hobson's report would be coming in tonight. Hathaway's mind kept reaching the same conclusion, no matter how hard he tried to steer away from it. Yet he knew he often suspected the worst of Lewis when it came to women, and generally was completely wrong.

About a quarter of an hour later, his phone buzzed again: _Hobson calling_.

"Hi. I can't get through to Lewis, but the post-mortem report is ready. You want to come over now?"

"Sure, as long as you aren't going to quiz me the way you did Lewis this afternoon."

"Not to worry, Sergeant. I always tailor my lessons to the level of the pupil. Yours will be a very elementary review."

He was still smiling at that when he arrived at the mortuary.

"Well, Lewis's theory on the method of killing was spot-on, I'm sorry to say. The shot tore through several organs, critically the heart and lungs, killing her almost instantly. What is even more interesting, however, is that the blood on the floor was a mix from two different people: Julia, here, and Charlie Fuller, he of the ninety-six stab wounds. And there were blanket fibers matching those found on Fuller. So you have your physical connection between them. All you need now is one very twisted individual with both types of blood on his or her hands."

"Three types of blood, I expect, counting Ruby."

"Ah, yes, Ruby. But you and Lewis aren't on that case, are you? Not with those fingerprints."

Hathaway cocked his head sideways. "Fingerprints? Lewis told me we weren't taking Ruby because we already had Charlie Fuller."

Laura looked at him intently. "Ah. I may have said too much, then. Only I thought you and Lewis were being up front with each other about the cases from now on."

Hathaway blew out his cheeks. "What is it? You might as well tell me so I don't have to force it out of you."

She gave him a skeptical look, but let it go. "Lewis's fingerprints were found on two twenty-pound notes that were left sealed in Ruby's mouth. He didn't tell you?"

Hathaway just shook his head. _Not again_.

"Grainger told me that he's not really a suspect, but they don't have anyone else right now, and his fingerprints were there, so what else can they do?"

"What was he paying her forty quid for?' Hathaway wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"She's his source. But it looks like someone wanted her silenced, and probably wanted to teach a lesson to anyone else thinking of grassing."

"Ohhh. Yeah, he had quite a bit of information after just one night of pounding the pavement." Hathaway was relieved at the above-board explanation. Then he got an idea.

"Hey, Laura, any chance you know of a Doctor Turner who has trouble accounting for all the medications he dispenses? Especially pseudoephedrine?"

"Ah. As it happens, I might. I'm on the Radcliffe's Board of Discipline, you know. But it's all very confidential, at least until something is proven."

Hathaway groaned. "Don't get all coy with me. It looks like this guy is probably our killer and all we know is his last name. There are dozens of Doctor Turners in the area. He's brutally killed three people in less than forty-eight hours. And if he knows about Ruby, he may have seen Lewis talking to her."

She assessed this information. "Alright, but if anyone asks, you figured this out through good old fashioned detail work. There's a Doctor Fredrick Turner who is being investigated by the Board. Large amounts of prescription drugs and other controlled substances, pseudoephedrine and needles included, have gone unaccounted for when under his control. He's not very cooperative, either. Massive temper."

She typed at a computer station a moment, then pointed to the screen. "This is his staff directory photo." Hathaway looked at the dark-haired man about his own age. He had rather sharp features and did not smile for his staff photo. Hathaway took a screen shot with his phone.

Laura scribbled something down on paper. "Here. This is his home address. And don't tell me you can't read my writing, the joke is not funny anymore."

"Thanks, Laura." He called for uniform to go pick up Turner, and phoned Lizzy Haines to give her the name, address, and photo. "Now, if only I could get through to the philandering Inspector Lewis."

She looked puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"

"He's on a dinner date tonight . . ."

"That's good for him!"

". . . with my mother."

Laura did her absolute best to not laugh out loud, but she quickly gave in. When she finally regained control, "That must be a bit awkward for you."

"Indeed. Especially when it looks like he's shut off his mobile."

"Why not try hers?"

Hathaway did so, but he got the same message. Her number was also out of service.

Hobson could tell Hathaway's imagination was running free with this further information. "Hmm, that doesn't look too good. But maybe he's taken her home already. It's nearly ten."

"Yeah, I'll try that. I'm sure that must be it." James did not sound convinced. "Thanks for the report."

He drove to his house, parked, and went inside. The house was dark and quiet. Louise was not there. _That old goat has her at his place_. As he drove to Lewis's, he tried one more call.

"Le Manoir, how may I help you this evening?"

"I was wondering if Mr. Robert Lewis was still there. He had a dinner reservation for two this evening, I believe?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lewis is not here any longer. I believe they left around nine."

As soon as he rang off, his phoned buzzed with an incoming call. "Yeah, Hathaway."

"Sarge, it's PC Daniels. We went to that address you gave for Turner but there's no one here. Neighbor says Turner went out about nine o'clock. Do you want us to wait here in case he comes back?"

"I guess that's all we can do for now." Growling to himself, Hathaway headed for Lewis's house.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

Lewis snapped on a few, but not too many, lights as they entered the flat. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Brandy?" Lewis could not imagine consuming any more food or drink; he was totally sated in that respect.

"No, I couldn't, really, not after that enchanting dinner." She stood very close, and looked into his eyes. She was nearly as tall as he was. Lewis felt his pulse begin to quicken. She leaned forward then, and kissed him tenderly on the mouth. It was just a short kiss, but he was encouraged, and his smile showed it.

"Hold that thought, Robbie. I'll be right back." She backed a few steps away, and then turned and made her way to the toilet.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Lewis made a grateful gesture heavenward, grinning broadly. _Yes!_

He heard the front door open and close, but in his euphoric and somewhat inebriated state, there was a slight delay in processing the perception. Just as the warning bells inside his head began to sound and he started to turn, something very hard and very heavy hit him squarely in the head. The bright flash behind his eyes was the last thing he saw.

* * *

Hathaway drew the car up to the curb outside Lewis's flat. A few lights were on inside. Through the sheer curtains he could see, as if he were looking through a mist, two people. One he was sure was his mother, and the other was pretty clearly a man, but it didn't look all that much like Lewis. James went up the front steps where he could peek in at the edge where the curtain and the window frame did not quite meet. He knew the lights on inside would mean he could get fairly close without risking being seen.

He peered through the narrow gap and finally got a clear look. His eyes widened as fear gripped him. It was indeed his mother standing there, but the man facing her was not Lewis. He looked, from where James stood, very much like Fredrick Turner. And he was pointing a silver handgun directly at Louise.

Hathaway felt his blood turn to ice water and he stepped back from the window and flipped on his mobile, punching 999. He identified himself to the dispatch officer and informed him that this looked like a possible hostage situation involving a firearm.

Then all he could do was wait. He knew he must not try to do anything heroic on his own where guns were involved. The vast bulk of his firearms training consisted of _Get out of the way and let the trained firearms officers handle it_.

He decided he would stay by the front door at least until the responding units arrived. Besides, he wasn't sure he _could_ move, he was trembling so much. He tried again to see what was going on, but they had moved out of his range of vision. _Damn!_ And then, _Where is Lewis, anyway?_

He nearly jumped out of his skin when his mobile rang. It was the Chief Super.

"Hathaway, what's going on? Isn't that Inspector Lewis's address you gave dispatch?"

"Yes, Ma'am, it is. I don't know where he is. I was coming over to his house and I could see through the window. A man with a gun. I think it's Fredrick Turner. And a woman. He's pointing the gun at her." His voice caught in his throat. "It's my mother, Ma'am. He's pointing a gun at my mother and I can't do anything about it."

"I'm sorry, James. Stay calm. Firearms are already on the way. I'll get there as soon as I can." She rang off.

Hathaway thought he heard sirens, and he turned to look up and down the street. _Shouldn't they be approaching silently?_ With his attention drawn away from the house, he did not notice the front door opening. But then he heard the step behind him.

Hathaway wheeled and struck out with his fist. He connected with a body but at an angle, and he knew the blow had not made much of an impact. Then he heard a loud bang and felt himself get knocked backwards. His left shoulder was ripped with fire, and his head slammed against the door frame, jarring his brain into semi-consciousness.

Woozy and unable to focus, Hathaway was vaguely aware being shoved into the room. His feet were kicked out from under him and he fell heavily to the floor, unable to catch himself on anything. His wrists were taped together behind his back. Then his ankles were taped. He was left in what was roughly a sitting position, leaning against the wall. With his arms bent back behind him, he was far from comfortable.

Hathaway blinked several times and shook his head to clear it. The back of his head throbbed and he wondered how badly he was injured. His shoulder burned, prompting a vague recollection of getting shot. He saw the front of his jacket was drenched in blood. Fear gripped his viscera in its cold fist, and he fought it the only way he could, by trying to clear his mind.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

The room came slowly into focus. The most noticeable feature was the muzzle of the silver automatic pointed in his direction. Hathaway was only able to flick his gaze away for a fraction of a second before it would snap back to that shining weapon.

To his left, Lewis was lying on the floor about six feet away. His hands were taped in front of him and his ankles were also taped. His hair was bloody, and blood was seeping into a pool on the floor near the crown of his head. His eyes were closed and he was not moving. Hathaway could not tell if he was even breathing.

Back to the gun. It was not moving either.

To his right, Louise was standing, leaning back against the kitchen counter, about four feet away. Like Lewis, her wrists were bound in front and her ankles were bound. She did not appear injured, and her look was detached. She did not look at James, but was staring at the gun.

He did the same.

The man holding the gun was indeed Fredrick Turner. He appeared just as scowling as in his staff photo. Turner waved the gun at Louise.

"Down on the floor, cow." She scrunched herself down to the floor, ending up another foot closer to James, and she stole a quick glance at him. There was a fire in her eyes that surprised him.

Suddenly, there was a loud knocking at the door. "Police! Open up! Doctor Turner, are you in there?"

Turner whipped around toward the door. "Back off, pigs! I have three people in here and I'm quite willing to kill them if you try to threaten me."

As he was speaking, Louise waved her hands to get James's attention. Then she flashed him a quick view of the steak knife she had hidden between her hands. He could see that she had already cut the tape binding her ankles.

Turner shot a quick glance at his captives but was too late to see what James had seen. The officer at the door told Turner they would be calling him on the house telephone if there was something he wanted to negotiate. Grumbling, he located the phone and waited for the call. Hathaway saw three mobiles lined up on the counter near the house phone, and realized that one of them was his.

He decided to see what he could do.

"Doctor Turner, you don't have to do this. You only need one of us as a bargaining chip. Why don't you let the other two go and just keep me?"

"I'm not stupid, pig. You're the one most likely to give me trouble. That one's probably dead already, and at least I can have some fun with her." He sneered lewdly at Louise.

Hathaway's stomach knotted and he tried not to think about what Turner had just said.

The phone rang then, and as Turner's attention was on it, Louise slid the knife across the floor to her son. He turned his back to it so he could pick it up with his hands, and he tried to discreetly reposition himself so he could work on the tape on his ankles.

"_Forget it_! You try something like that and one of them dies!" Hathaway froze, his heart pounding. But Turner slammed down the phone; he was not talking to James.

And then he _was_, getting down close into James's face. "You cops are all the same. Sticking your noses into people's private lives. It's no one's business but mine that I took care of that prick Charlie Fuller, thinking he could horn in on my woman. And _she_ needed to be taught a lesson, too, the little scrubber."

"And Ruby?"

"That was _his_ fault." He nodded toward the inert body to James's left. "He knew she'd do anything for cash. He used her for his own ends."

Turner bent his head in Louise's direction. "That's the kind of man you were with tonight, darling. A heartless prick who associates with scabby, junkie whores and uses them for his own pleasure. I did you a favor, interrupting your little tryst here."

Louise looked despairingly at James. It was clear she believed the worst of Lewis.

"That's not true about him." Hathaway almost added _Mum_, but caught it in time. He did not want to give Turner another weakness to exploit.

"Shut up, pig!" Turner slammed Hathaway in the temple with the side of the gun. "I knew you'd cause me trouble. You know what I do to trouble-makers?"

Hathaway could feel a warm drip slowly descending his temple. His head now throbbed in two places.

Their captor came closer to Louise, squatting down in front of her. "Now _you_, I could have some fun with you." He drew the end of the gun across her cheek and at the same time pawed at her breasts with his left hand. Hathaway could see traces of dried blood on the gun's barrel, and he shuddered involuntarily.

"_Don't touch her_." Hathaway spit the words out between his teeth. He had failed once to protect his mother. _It must not happen again._

Turner looked at him. "Oh, and just what are you going to do about it?" He made quite a show of squeezing her breast, enjoying James's reaction.

The distraction of James's challenge was exactly what Louise needed. She slammed her foot into Turner's crotch, sending him sprawling halfway across the room, howling in pain. Hathaway jerked his feet free of the nearly-severed tape and jumped up, throwing himself at Turner. He pinned down Turner's gun hand with one foot, putting all his weight on it and grimacing at the crunch of bone. Turner's destroyed hand lost its grip.

"_GO!_"

Louise shot to her feet, stooping to grab the gun with her still-bound hands, and then ran for the front door. Struggling with the knob, she shouted to the police on the other side.

"Open it! Open the door!"

Turner was lurching under Hathaway's weight. With his arms still pinioned behind his back, Hathaway was at a serious disadvantage. Turner bucked and writhed. Then he struck Hathaway on the left shoulder and the blaze of pain took James's breath away. Turner threw him off and twisted his head around, searching for the knife that Hathaway had dropped when he fell on Turner. Hathaway scrambled to his feet and looked around for it, too.

They both saw it at once. It was clenched in Lewis's double fist. His eyes were no more than slits, but he was conscious. Turner glared.

"You little bastard, you're still alive." Then he booted Lewis hard in the stomach. Lewis cried out but did not let go. Turner pulled back his leg to strike again.

_No, you don't!_ Hathaway kicked Turner's other leg out from under him and he fell over, directly onto Lewis.

And then James heard the simultaneous click of half a dozen carbines. It was over.

The firearms sergeant approached Turner. "Get up, Turner. Don't try anything. It's over."

Turner convulsed a bit, but did not otherwise respond.

Hathaway took a deep breath and stepped past the two men on the floor, going around behind the firing line and leaving the flat. He wanted to see how this came out, wanted to see how Lewis was, but it was what he was trained to do, _Get out of the way and let the trained firearms officers handle it_.

Two PCs stepped forward to assist him as he came down the steps, one producing a knife to deftly cut the tape on his wrists. The other wrapped a blanket around him and Hathaway realized then that he was shivering with cold.

The ambulance technicians rushed forward and had him lie down on a gurney. One peeled back his blood-soaked jacket and went to work on his wounds, another took his vital signs, and a third prepared intravenous fluids. Chief Superintendent Innocent came over, worry prominent in her expression.

"Hathaway, what happened? My God, have you been _shot_?"

But before he could answer, another woman stepped up next to her. She had his full attention.

"Mum! Are you alright? You were brilliant."

"I'll be fine." She squeezed his hand. The medical techs didn't leave her much room for anything else. "You make sure _you're_ alright."

At that point, the firearms sergeant was calling from the front door for medical assistance inside the flat. The rest of the firearms officers were emerging, their body language indicating the threat was over. The sergeant approached Innocent.

"Turner's dead, Ma'am. Fell right onto a knife that was in Inspector Lewis's hands." He turned to Hathaway. "Good work, James. That was a perfectly-aimed trip."

He anticipated their next question.

"DI Lewis is alive but he's in serious condition. Looks like he got bashed over the head pretty hard. His eyes are open, sort of, but he's not responding to anything."

Louise volunteered, "I was in the loo when the man came in. I didn't hear a thing. When I came out, Robbie was on the floor and the man was kicking him in the stomach. When he saw me, he pointed the gun at me and made me tape up Robbie's hands and feet. The whole time, Robbie never moved. I—" her voice began to break "—I thought he must be dead."

Innocent put her arm around Louise. "Come sit down in my car. We'll follow the ambulances to the hospital." She resisted, for now, the urge to ask her friend what she was doing at Lewis's flat.

The medics had Hathaway almost ready to go. As he waited, strapped to the gurney, Dr. Hobson saw him and came over.

Hathaway looked up at her and smiled halfway. "Hey, what are you doing here? I'm not dead, so just go find someone else to poke at."

She grinned. "You must not be in as serious a condition as you look." Then, more quietly, "I have to look at Turner. Verify that he was stabbed. You know Thames Valley, they don't want to ruin their record of only once using firearms against a suspect." She headed toward the flat. "See you in hospital, James."

As they were loading Hathaway into an ambulance, he could see a second gurney being taken out of the flat and down the steps. He spoke quickly to his handlers.

"Can I just . . . see him?"

The one in charge nodded curtly, and they backed the gurney onto the pavement, waving the second team to come near.

The second gurney was brought parallel to Hathaway's, and he looked over as well as he could from his supine position. As the firearms sergeant had reported, Lewis's eyes were open but vacant. The uncovered arm into which the IV fluids drained was red with blood.

"Sir? Inspector Lewis? Can you hear me? Sir?"

He was certain he saw a glimmer then, and perhaps an attempted smile? And then they were wheeled apart toward the waiting ambulances.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

Hathaway woke up in an unfamiliar room. His brain was working in slow motion, and as he looked around, he saw Laura Hobson sitting in a chair by his side. She flashed a smile at him.

"Hey. Welcome back."

"Laura. What time is it?"

She checked her watch. "Half two. How do you feel?"

"Sleepy. Doesn't hurt much."

"Ah. That's the morphine. Wait until that wears off. Would you like some water?"

He took the cup she offered and drank gratefully. "How's my shoulder?"

"Pretty good. It was a through-and-through. Missed the bone. So, basically just a muscle tear. And your head will be fine, just a couple of contusions."

James lay quietly for a while, sweeping the anaesthetic fuzz from his mind. Something was tugging at the edge of his memory. There was something he needed to know. _A through-and-through . . ._ He suddenly remembered having been shot. Having been hit. Having been held captive with his mother and—

"Inspector Lewis. How is he?" James was feeling a bit of a panic. It had been hours since he saw that spark of life in Lewis's eyes. A lot could have happened since then.

Laura bit her lip. "He's still in surgery. It's not good, James, I won't try to hide it from you. A fractured skull that went untreated for over an hour. And he has some broken ribs and I'm not sure what internal injuries. I'm glad you're awake now." _In case he doesn't make it_, she could not bring herself to add.

Hathaway thought a while about what was not being said. "How's Louise?"

"Amazingly, she wasn't injured. In a bit of shock, but they didn't think she needed to be admitted. She's resting now. I finished cleaning up from Turner a bit ago and told her I'd take over here."

She leaned forward. "There's something you should probably know about this."

Hathaway tipped his head toward her, eyebrows raised.

"Lewis killed him."

"I know, I was there when Turner fell on the knife."

She looked impatient. "That's what I'm _saying_. Falling on the knife didn't do it. He hit it at such an angle that it barely broke the skin."

Hathaway resisted what was being implied. "So what _are_ you saying killed him?"

"Turner was carved up. The knife ended up behind his sternum. They could barely pull Turner off Lewis because Lewis's arms were caught on the _inside_ of Turner's ribcage. He shoved the knife in until he was literally in past his elbows. And he hacked at anything he could on the way."

Her voice was no more than a whisper. "Lewis _murdered_ him, James." She choked a bit. "I haven't written up the report yet. I'm not sure what to say."

Hathaway had to absorb that. "Well, you have to report it as you found it. Anyway, it'd probably be ruled self-defense, wouldn't it." Not a question. "I'm not even sure he was rational at the time. More like an injured animal."

"You're right, of course. I have to report it just as it was, whatever it means."

Her energy returned. "You should rest, Sergeant. You've had a big day."

"And here I thought my mother was in another room."

She stayed by his side until he fell asleep, then returned to her office to write up her post-mortem report on Turner. It took longer than usual, owing to the fact that she stopped writing every now and then to determinedly dab at her eyes.

* * *

Laura made certain she was there when Lewis was finally wheeled out of the operating theatre. She cornered the lead surgeon. "Well, Doctor?"

He looked tired but relaxed. A good sign.

"Doctor Hobson?" He was surprised to see her. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but this one is not for you. He's firmly in the land of the living."

She almost melted with relief.

"Personal friend, Laura? The man must have a skull like iron. A piece of it went into his brain, but I was able to remove it without damage."

"What's the prognosis?"

"I think he should be okay, surprisingly enough. The fracture allowed the blood to drain so there was no hematoma. It looks like a basic flesh-and-bone injury, no brain damage. He's very lucky."

_We all are_, she thought. "What about his thoracic injuries?"

"You'll have to talk to Doctor Patel to get the complete report, but my understanding is that he has three fractured ribs, and ruptured his spleen and liver. Nothing he can't recover from. He'll be sedated for quite some time, but if you want to see him, you may."

"Please."

He directed her to Lewis's bed in the post-anesthesia care unit. She knew objectively what to expect but still caught her breath at the sight of his bandaged head and torso, sensors in place, and tubes delivering blood, fluids, and sedatives. She took his hand and was surprised at its warmth when he looked so lifeless. She kissed it, and blinked back the tears that welled in her eyes.

After some time of just sitting with him, she kissed his hand again, and went out of the unit. She made her way back to Hathaway's room, knocking softly before entering. Hathaway's eyes were closed, but as she turned to go back out, she heard him clear his throat. "Laura?"

She rushed over to him. "Hi, how are you doing?"

"I know what you mean about the morphine wearing off."

"They'll give you something for it, just tell the nurse."

He looked at her intently. "Well? Have you seen him?"

"Yeah. It looks like he's going to be okay."

Hathaway blew out his cheeks and closed his eyes.

"His skull fracture probably didn't cause any brain damage, and the rest is fractured ribs and internal ruptures that will heal, given enough time. It'll be a while before he's back in action, you know."

"Just as long as he comes back."

"I hear you. And, James? I'm glad you're back, too."

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

By Friday morning, nothing could keep Hathaway from coming in to work. He had had his fill of mothering while he recovered and adjusted to doing things with one hand, as he would have to do for a while yet. The pain was manageable with the painkillers he had been prescribed.

As he was putting on his tie, his mobile buzzed: _Hobson calling._ "Hi, Laura, what's up?"

"Lewis is. Thought you'd want to come talk to him before anyone else gets here."

* * *

James swallowed hard before knocking gently on the door and entering. Lewis was watching the door as it opened, and he smiled despite his pain when he saw who his visitor was. "Hey."

"Welcome back to the big, bad, world, Sir." Hathaway pulled the chair up next to the bed. He was aware of feeling as if he was grinning like an idiot.

"You only say that because you haven't spent the last few days in my nightmares. I'm quite happy to be back in _this_ world." Then he became more serious.

"Hathaway, what the hell happened, anyway?"

"What do you remember?"

"Having a wonderful dinner with your mother, her inviting herself back to my place. I definitely remember that. Then something hit me on the head. After that, I'm not sure where reality and morphine divide. I remember you being there, and that bastard falling on me. I had a knife—that can't be right. He tried to get it from me and I had to keep it. I don't know why. That was definitely a dream, y'know? One of those where you have to do something that makes no sense and you have no idea why but you _know_ it's important and you just do everything you can to make it happen." He looked hopefully at Hathaway, as if James could divine the meaning of dreams.

Hathaway took a big breath. "Sir, you _did_ have a knife. And Hobson found that you carved the hell out of Turner with it. Killed him, in fact. Up to your elbows in blood, she said." He did not like to see the confusion that clouded Lewis's expression.

"Turner? Was that his name? He was Doctor Who?" Lewis made his way through the tangle of images in his head.

"Hathaway—what happened to Louise? Is she alright? I can't believe I subjected her to all this."

James snorted. "Don't worry about the delicate Louise. She saved all our bacon by swiping a knife, thereby freeing herself and me, and kicking Turner in the nuts so I could take his gun and hand him off to you to finish with the knife. She's going back to London tonight."

Lewis's expression reflected his appreciation of her mettle.

"I knew that woman had moxie." A dreamy smile made its way across his face.

"Sir, don't get too attached to her, please. I say this for your sake."

Lewis looked at him closely. "Has she talked about me since then?"

"Don't make me your messenger, Sir. You want to know how she feels, you talk to her. I'll tell her you're conscious and you can take it from there."

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

But Louise did not visit him that day. When Innocent stopped in that evening, she mentioned how well Louise seemed to have endured the horrific experience.

"She seems to have gained a huge boost in self-confidence, which is only reasonable, given how instrumental she was in liberating you two men."

She noticed Lewis's somewhat crestfallen expression. "Were you _pursuing_ her, Lewis? You are hardly someone of her stature."

It was like being sucked down a drain. "Actually, Ma'am, she gave me the impression that _she_ was pursuing _me_. But I'm starting to think that was the impression she intended me to get. She'd be here if she had meant it, wouldn't she?" His heart had fallen so low, he would have stepped on it, if he were standing.

But Innocent was uninterested in his romantic failures. "Lewis, there's another thing." She hoped he was sufficiently unaffected by the painkillers to address her concerns. "Turner's death apparently resulted from a bit of . . . excessive force. He wasn't just _stopped_, he was decimated. By you. You hacked out his internal organs and knifed him from here to kingdom come. How do I defend this?"

Lewis was encouraged by the idea that Innocent intended to defend him. "Ma'am, I can't tell you what I was thinking. I _wasn't_ thinking. I was delirious. He was trying to get the knife from me, and all I knew was that I couldn't let that happen. And there seemed to be a lot of blood, I don't know whose. That's all I remember."

"Alright. There aren't any other living witnesses, and your explanation fits with what we know about your medical condition and his personality. This was a remarkable case, Lewis. You and Hathaway dispatched it in just under two days, as well as resolving DI Grainger's related case. Nice work."

And then she left him alone.

* * *

All Lewis could do was speculate. He did not have Louise's number because she had called him that first time, and so he had no way of reaching her by himself. He felt as if he could handle everything that had happened in the last week except that cold feeling of rejection. Especially when she had never explained why.

Around eight that night, Hathaway knocked and entered.

"Sir? I just wanted to see how you're doing."

The averted, watery eyes, the clenched mouth that could not be trusted to speak, and the bedsheet knotted in the fisting fingers told Hathaway all he needed to know.

He sat on the edge of the bed and on impulse took one of Lewis's hands in his.

"I'm so sorry, Sir. It's as if she's programmed to hurt people in revenge for the hurt that was done to her. She did genuinely like you, Sir. She just can't permit herself to enjoy the company of someone she actually likes. Instead, she punishes you for liking her. It's complicated."

Lewis waited while the operatic shifts in his head caught up with the present. Then he concluded that, indeed, it was too complicated for him. He tried to seriously consider the state he was in and how that had come about. But he had nothing to hang on to within himself.

"I won't hear from her again, will I?"

"It's better that way. She'll be laughing by now. I'm sorry, Sir, but it's the truth." How many times had he said that? He was tired and needed to go home. He pressed Lewis back onto the pillows. "I'll be back in the morning, Sir. Tomorrow, we take you home."

"Thank you, James, for your honesty. That matters more than anything. You probably know that."

"I do know that, Sir. It's something I learned from you. One of many, many things I learned from you."

And by the look they exchanged, each man knew nothing more needed to be said.

* * * * *


	16. Chapter 16

Around four the following afternoon, Lewis was dressed and more than ready to leave when Hathaway appeared.

"You seem in good spirits today, Sir."

Oh, aye. Catheter's out, man. Nothing more liberating than being able to pee whenever you want."

Hathaway rolled his eyes. "If you say so, Sir."

"Ah. I can tell you've never had one or you'd agree with me immediately."

The hospital staff wheeled Lewis out to the entrance, where James had his car waiting. Lewis didn't need too much help to get in the car, which was just as well, since Hathaway was still hampered by the sling on his left arm.

As he drove, Hathaway told Lewis how Dr. Hobson had been instrumental in springing him from hospital after such a relatively short stay. She had assured the treating physicians that she would personally check Lewis's vitals twice a day and would report it all for their review. She had seen that Lewis's flat was equipped with all the necessary equipment and the components of a nutritious liquid diet, and she would monitor his respiration and GI tract for any post-operative complications.

Lewis groaned. "Twice a day? I know how to take me own blood pressure, Sergeant."

"Apparently, with injuries like yours, you'd normally be looking at a week-long stay, so you're getting out at least four days early this way. Laura thinks you're healing rather quickly for someone of such an advanced age."

Lewis ignored the rib. "Fine, as long as it gets me out of there."

As they arrived at Lewis's flat, he felt a sudden qualm. A vision flashed into his mind of what the flat must look like after all the bloodletting.

Hathaway noticed the hesitance and made the connection. "It's alright, Sir. We had a professional cleaning crew in here this week. You'd never know your flat was a crime scene."

"Professional cleaners? I won't know me flat, crime scene or no."

They got Lewis situated in his front room, semi-reclining on the sofa, watching the Newcastle United match on the telly. When it ended—a Newcastle victory—James brought Lewis some beef tea and orange gelatin, ignoring the face Lewis made. As the older man sipped his dinner, Hathaway sat on the floor and leaned his back against the sofa. He hadn't slept well for the last few nights because of the pain in his shoulder, and in minutes he dozed off.

Lewis kept an eye on him for some time.

"Hathaway?" There was no answer. Lewis took a deep breath and picked up Hathaway's mobile from the coffee table. Thumbing rapidly through the directory, he scrolled through the Hs, the Ls, and then finally the Ms. There it was, the last entry before N: _Mum_. Lewis entered the number into the list on his own mobile, snapped off Hathaway's phone and put it back next to James's keys where it had been.

The doorbell buzzed then, causing Hathaway to stir, but he did not awaken. Lewis bent slowly to his feet and shuffled to the door to let Hobson in.

She looked at him in disbelief. "What are you doing on your feet? Where's Hathaway?"

Lewis nodded toward the prone figure on the floor by the sofa.

Laura rolled her eyes. "Come on, you should be in bed." After ensuring he had eaten and supervising him taking his medications—codeine and antibiotics—she helped him get comfortable in his bed. Although she gently checked the dressing on his stitches, he still gritted his teeth with the pain, and she clucked with concern. When she dabbed antiseptic on the sutures in his scalp, he gasped. "Hobson, man!" "Sorry. But you don't want this to get infected."

Soon, she was done with her ministrations. "I need to go. I guess James can just stay there, I hate to wake him. Anything else you want?"

"Yeah, would you please get me my phone? It's on the counter."

She raised one eyebrow.

"And Laura, there's an extra door key in the drawer under the telly. Take it so you can come in without me having to get up, right?"

She fetched the key and handed him the mobile. She pointed to the latter. "Don't hurt yourself with that." Then, impulsively, she kissed the top of his head, turned, and went out.

* * *


	17. Chapter 17

"Hello?"

"Hello, Louise. It's Robbie Lewis."

"Robbie. How . . . unexpected."

He let that pass. "I'm afraid I have to apologize for Tuesday night. I should have done sooner but I just got out of hospital today."

"How are you doing?"

"I'll recover. Turner didn't hit anything vital. Just me head, spleen, and liver. Didn't come close to doing any damage to my heart."

It was her turn to let it pass. "For what do you think you need to apologize?"

"I'm sorry about my, um, improper conduct. I should have called a taxi after dinner, I know better than to drive after that much wine. And I should have taken you to James's place, not mine. My intentions were not entirely honorable, I'm afraid. You have a rather extraordinary effect on me, I must admit. A way of getting me to stray from my usual principles. So, I'm sorry. That wasn't the normal me."

"That's fine, Robbie. Was there anything else?" She sounded bored.

"Yeah, there is actually. I really enjoy being with you and I'd like to see you again. Is that possible?"

"I don't think so. It's quite tedious trying to converse using one- and two-syllable words."

It was an insult he was well used to.

"You can't get rid of me just by offending me. You owe me a proper explanation for why you're treating me so badly."

"Alright, Inspector. I've decided I don't much care for you."

He gambled. "We both know that's not true."

Her silence was the payoff and he pushed again.

"Louise, it's okay to care for another person."

More silence.

"You can't tell me you're enjoying this conversation more than you enjoyed the one we had Tuesday night. C'mon. Dinner? A week from tonight?"

Nothing.

"Don't be afraid of hurting me, Louise. I have nothing left to be hurt." _Not entirely true_.

At last she spoke. "Please don't call me again, Inspector." And she hung up.

Lewis heard the sound of a throat clearing and looked up. Hathaway was standing in the bedroom doorway, looking very unhappy.

"Don't torment yourself with her, Sir. The more you show you care about her, the sharper the knife she'll use."

Lewis studied him a while.

"Okay, Hathaway, why won't Louise admit she likes me?"

Hathaway closed his eyes and frowned sharply. "Sir, you do not want to go there."

"Yeah, I _do_, James. I know enough about people to tell she's being unkind as defense, not as offense.

Hathaway said nothing.

"Get yourself a whisky, Hathaway, man. You and Louise owe me an explanation." Lewis wanted this enough to put up a fight for it.

Hathaway retrieved a glass and the whisky bottle and sat on the floor next to Lewis's bed. He poured a measure into the tumbler and took a small sip. Eventually, he looked up.

"You're such a bloody stubborn sod sometimes, Sir."

"Go on, Hathaway. I like a good ghost story right before bedtime." He looked at his younger partner shrewdly. "It _is_ a ghost story, isn't it?"

Hathaway took a deep swallow from his glass. "A ghost _and_ a monster: my father. The ghost is my unborn sibling." He had Lewis's full attention.

"My father used to alternately terrify and adore my mother. He just terrified me and my little sister. I feared and hated him." Hathaway finished off the whisky in his glass and poured another, then shut his eyes for a moment.

"I'm sorry, James. You don't have to do this."

"No, I _do_ have to do this." Hathaway looked at him fiercely, then tossed back the generous shot he had just poured, flinching as the fire poured down his throat.

"She was eight months pregnant when he knocked her down the front staircase. I was four. I came at him and he hit me so hard I lost a tooth. Mum stood up to him then, finally, and told him to get the hell out, he was no longer part of our family. I never saw him after that."

He swallowed directly from the bottle. "Mum lost the baby, of course. From then on, she set about destroying any man who showed her any affection. The ones I liked I would try to warn."

"Like me."

"Yeah, like you."

Hathaway took another swallow and tried to corral his scattering thoughts. "Only, you don't seem as devastated as most of the others."

Lewis recognized the irony. "That's because she _can't_ destroy me. I'm pretty much already destroyed."

For a minute, the only sound was the creak of the bed as Lewis shifted a little.

He repeated, "I'm sorry, James."

There was no answer. As Hathaway slowly slumped horizontally to the floor, Lewis carefully reached over, corked the whisky, and pulled up a rug that had been folded at the foot of his bed. He laid it over Hathaway's prone form, settled himself back down, and slid rapidly into the straightjacketed sleep of the drugged. The room was still.

* * *


	18. Chapter 18

_It was all about knives. He was swimming underwater, trying to get away from the knives. Only it _wasn't_ water, it was blood, and so he couldn't see much of anything. But he knew there were knives everywhere, whirling, slicing, stabbing. The blood stung his eyes. But no, that was the knives again, jabbing at his eyes and making it impossible to see the person he was supposed to be rescuing. Then—a flash of an arm—and a leg! He stroked powerfully forward and grabbed hold of what he could. He found the surface and turned to check the near-victim he had in tow. It was Lewis. He looked dead, drenched in blood. But as Lewis opened his eyes, he changed into James's father, glowering with that still-familiar feral look. Then he morphed into Louise, and she suddenly slashed at him with one of the knives, plunging it deep into his left shoulder. He cried out with the pain, kicking at her, thrusting her away from him. She had him by both hands, squeezing them tightly in hers, and throatily uttering his name in her foul triumph—"James! James!"_

"James! Wake up, man! Come _on_! _Come on, lad!_"

Hathaway sputtered to the surface, blinking the blood out of his eyes, and saw Lewis bending over him, squeezing his hands, face full of concern. "James!"

When Lewis finally saw the recognition in his sergeant's expression, he felt a strangely paternal rush.

Lewis held him close, suddenly, his arms strong around James's trembling shoulders. "It's just a dream, Hathaway, man. It's over. Shhh. It's okay." After a few seconds, Lewis released him and looked into his eyes, searching as if they held the key to a mystery.

"You okay, James?"

The images were fading rapidly from Hathaway's vision, but he could still see the hatred in Louise's face as she stabbed him. He tried to stop shivering but couldn't, not until Lewis wrapped the rug around his shoulders and pinned it there with one arm.

"You alright now?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" Lewis was hovering close, looking directly at him, highly skeptical.

"Yeah. Uh, sorry to make you get up, Sir."

"Yeah, what the hell were you thinking, having a nightmare when _I'm_ supposed to be the patient here?"

The gentle gibe relaxed James a bit, and he half smiled.

"Just naturally ego-centric, I suppose, Sir."

Lewis was relieved to hear Hathaway's familiar dry wit.

"That _must_ be it." _Thank God you're alright_. "You take your painkiller tonight?"

"Yeah." A bit defensive. "Well, in liquid form if you count half a bottle of whisky. That should have been enough."

But Lewis supervised him taking his prescribed dose, and circled as James settled himself on Lewis's sofa, much more comfortable than the floor.

"You sure you're okay, Sergeant?"

Hathaway nodded.

"We got a little preview of Hell this week, didn't we, Hathaway?"

"I wouldn't presume to know what Hell will be like, Sir."

"Well, take it from one who's been there a few times already. This week was classic Hell."

* * *


	19. Chapter 19

Lewis was on his feet as Newcastle United scored another goal in the last two minutes of the match. Beaming broadly, he switched off the telly when the final whistle blew and cracked open a beer. It was the first alcohol he had allowed himself since the incident with Turner, and it tasted so good. He was off his medications, done with the liquid diet, and recovering rapidly. He'd lost weight—more than a stone—thanks to the liquid diet and twice-daily walks he took to build up his strength. Probably that trend would reverse when he started back to work on Monday.

For now, though, he felt good. Earlier in the day, Chief Superintendent Innocent had surprised him with a visit. Even though it was Saturday, she appeared dressed for the office, and he was a little self-conscious in his old sweatpants and tee shirt. But her news was good: the internal investigation was over, and Lewis had been cleared of any wrongdoing. He had been nervous when she first told him of the investigation, mandated because a civilian had died at the hands of a police officer, and there appeared to be an issue of excessive force. In his statement, Lewis testified that, although he remembered wrestling for the knife, he could not recall any awareness that he was killing Turner. Fortunately, the committee saw it his way, and ruled that he acted reasonably and within the line of duty.

It was getting late and he realized how hungry he was. He set about constructing a frittata, sautéing onions and peppers, whipping up the eggs and milk, and checking the fridge for interesting things to add to it. Popping it into the oven at last, he finished his beer and picked out a bottle of white wine to go with his dinner. He poured himself a glass, put Dire Straits' _Love Over Gold_ on the stereo, and was just about to sit down when the doorbell rang.

Frowning slightly, he went to the door. Hobson was done with her checks on him and Hathaway had hinted at having something to do, so he could not guess who might be on the other side of the door. When he opened it, his mouth fell open in surprise.

"Hello, Robbie." It was Louise.

"Ah . . . am I expecting you?"

"Well, you invited me to dinner tonight."

"So I did. Um, I guess I wasn't sure you were coming. C'mon in." He stood aside to allow her in. As he followed her down the short hallway, he could not help shaking his head in bewilderment.

"Here, sit down. Can I get you a glass of wine?"

"Please." He noticed that she scanned his attire with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh, sorry. If you just give us a minute to put something on . . . ?"

"No, no, you look so comfortable. It's quite alright."

He was still baffled by her arrival. "I've got a frittata in the oven, if that's alright. There's plenty for two." He started putting together a salad. Her prolonged silence made him look up.

She remained standing and looked at him accusingly. "You never called me again, Robbie."

He strangled his instinctive defensiveness, and aimed for a mild tone. "You specifically told me not to. I was just honoring your wish."

She looked interested. "Would you have called if I hadn't said that?"

"Yes. Definitely." And he realized as he spoke that this was the truth.

She found this amusing. "Both Jean and James told me that would be the reason. I didn't believe them." She joined him in the kitchen, finding silverware and dishes. "James told me I could trust you. He said you saved his life once."

Lewis nearly denied it with his usual modesty. But that would be untrue; he _had_ saved Hathaway's life. Instead, he just said, "He's a good man, James. You should be proud of him. He's one of the best cops I've ever worked with."

She smiled vaguely. "Sometimes he reminds me of his father. Intense. Private to the point of being evasive." She was no longer smiling.

"That must be hard for you. James told me a little about your family."

She looked directly into his eyes then, her pupils dilating. "Robbie, you're not like any man I've ever met before. Please forgive me for the way I treated you." And she leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth.

He almost leaned to meet her, but pulled himself up short and backed up a little. "Whoa. Louise, I'm treading very carefully where you're concerned. I like you—a lot—but . . . well, frankly, you scare me a bit." He added with a half smile, "I'd hate to be on the receiving end of one of your kicks. Okay if we just go slow, like?"

Her astonished expression told him that what she had said was true, she _hadn't_ met anyone like him before, someone who would resist her charms even when he obviously didn't want to.

And then the timer went off, allowing him to divert his attention to the food. The tension went from the room, and they relaxed over the meal.

They talked about personal things. Lewis was surprised how comfortable he felt discussing his children and his marriage. Louise reflected on her marriage to Jack, who had been very sweet the first few years they were married. But he was not well-suited to family life and turned to drinking after James was born. After their second child, he became abusive and violent.

"I should have left him right away, but I kept hoping the old Jack would return. Sometimes I really miss having another person around. I don't know why I feel compelled to drive men away, honestly."

"Ah, old habits die hard. I'm only lately finding times when I actually enjoy living alone. It'd probably be different if it hadn't been forced on me."

Lewis was watching his alcohol intake, knowing his resistance was probably diminished from abstaining for over a week, and even though the bottle was nearly half-full when the food was gone, Louise waved him off when he gestured toward her glass.

"No, please, I'm feeling quite light-headed already. Thank you, though. That was delicious. It's so nice to eat someone else's cooking for a change."

He accepted the compliment with a shy smile. "Do you want to pick out a DVD or something? They're on the shelf, there. I'll just get this cleaned up."

When he was done putting things away, he entered the sitting area of the flat. Louise had selected _Local Hero_. "How's this?"

"Aw, haven't seen that one in ages." He popped it into the player and they settled down on the sofa, side by side.

By the time the sweet saxophone sang out the closing theme, he was feeling very mellow. He thought about putting his arm around Louise, but when he turned to her, he realized she had fallen asleep on the sofa, her shoes on the floor, legs tucked up underneath her. He shook her gently, but there was no response. _Can't leave her sleeping out here on the sofa all night_. But with his stitches out just that morning, he was still restricted from lifting. He had no way of getting her to the spare room by himself unless he could wake her, and that didn't seem too likely. It was only ten o'clock, not too late to call for a little assistance. He picked up the phone.

* * *


	20. Chapter 20

Hathaway tried to ignore the call, but finally he looked at the screen: _Lewis calling_. Cursing under his breath, he punched the button to connect. _Bloody hell, this better not be work_.

"Yeah."

"Hathaway, I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I'm in a bit of a situation here."

"Actually, you _are_ interrupting something, Sir." Lewis could hear feminine giggling at the other end of the line.

"Oh, I see. Well, how about I call back in half an hour? Will you be done by then?" Hathaway could hear the smirk.

"The damage has been done already, Sir. I take it this is not work-related."

"Sorry, James. It's just, uh, your mother is here and she's sound asleep on me sofa. I'm not sure what to do with her, and I don't want to be accused of doing anything um . . . y'know. Ungentlemanly."

"Just call a taxi and carry her out." More giggling.

"Hathaway! I'm not sending her in a taxi to London! Besides, I'm not supposed to lift anything yet, and there'd be no one to help her at that end. Use your head, man."

"That's not a body part I'm using tonight."

"Look, just get on with . . . whatever you're doin' there, okay? But can you get over here sometime tonight, please?"

It was after two before Lewis heard the car door slam outside his flat. He let Hathaway in without waiting for him to knock or ring. Lewis couldn't help noticing the red marks on his neck.

"Sorry to disturb your night of passion, Sergeant." He could not resist asking, "Anyone I know?"

Hathaway surveyed the situation in the flat, and simply answered, "Yes."

"Oh, aye?" When there was no more information forthcoming, Lewis's smile turned mischievous. "How was she, anyway?"

Hathaway ignored him.

Turning to the woman on the sofa, Hathaway frowned some more. "Why did she come here? I thought she was done with you."

"A week ago, when I was arguably whacked on codeine, I invited her to dinner tonight. She never said she wasn't coming. And so I guess the invitation was still open. She must have had more wine during dinner than I realized. Fell asleep while we were watching a movie."

"And all you two did was eat and watch a DVD?" His tone was rich with implication.

"God, Hathaway, _yes!_ Look, she tried to kiss me but I wouldn't let her. We had a very nice evening, but she still makes me a bit nervous, like. In all honesty, she's a bit like sticking your hand down a hole in the ground. You never know if there might be a badger down there."

Hathaway smiled at that. "Yeah, she is, isn't she? Okay, let's put her in your spare room. Go get the light on so I don't fall over anything." He scooped her up and carried her down the hall. After they got her tucked in, Hathaway flopped onto the sofa, and rubbed his left shoulder. "I probably shouldn't have done that."

Lewis went to get a spare pillow and blanket. "You'll stay as backup, right? Or is there someone waiting for you back at your place?"

Hathaway just shot him a look and took the bedding. "Goodnight, Sir. I'm watching to make sure you go to your own room."

* * *

Lewis became aware that someone was standing next to his bed, gently shaking his shoulder. "Robbie?"

"Louise. What is it? What time is it?"

"It's nearly three. I'm sorry to wake you." She hesitated. "Please don't jump to any conclusions. I was wondering if I might just crawl in with you." She continued before he could say no. "Just to sleep. I really miss the feeling of sleeping next to someone, the sound of someone else's slow breathing. The warmth."

_Oh, God, so do I_. "Just to sleep?"

She nodded, looking somewhat sad. _Not at all like a badger_.

"I'm not wearing much." He was too drowsy to put up a good argument, and he really didn't want to. He _did_ miss the comfort of another body sleeping next to him. He'd never been able to sleep in the middle of the double bed, always staying only on "his" side.

"I won't touch, I promise."

"Okay, but I get this side."

She picked up his tee shirt from where he'd dropped it on the floor, putting it on over her clothes and then wriggling out of nearly everything else. She crawled in next to him, wearing just his shirt and her underwear. She was asleep in an instant.

Whatever misgivings he had disappeared immediately. She smelled faintly of ginger, and she brought a comforting warmth to the bed. He wanted to touch her but was content just to share the space of the bed. _This is really nice_. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

"Sir?" Hathaway knocked while opening the door. "Louise is gone—" despite the dim morning light, he recognized the two semi-entwined people who looked up at him groggily. "Oh, God, that's going to warp me." He backed out quickly, shutting the door.

"Hathaway!" Lewis scrambled out of bed, pulling on his sweatpants, and chasing Hathaway out into the front room. "We were just _sleeping_. That's all."

But Hathaway refused to let Lewis confront him, grabbing his things from the table, slipping on his shoes, snatching up his jacket, and slamming the door on his way out.

"Hathaway, for God's sake!" _Shit_.

Then a pair of arms encircled him from behind. "Come back to bed."

He gently broke her hold and turned around, smiling ruefully. "No. It wouldn't be just to sleep if I did, would it? I think I better get some breakfast started instead."

Later that afternoon, he tried calling Hathaway. Louise had gone back to London on the train and Lewis did not want to wait until Monday to get things sorted between him and his partner. But his call was declined and all he could do was work out what he would say on Monday.

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

Although Lewis made a point of getting to work early, but he still didn't get there before Hathaway. At least the office was relatively underpopulated in case they ended up shouting.

As soon as he entered their office, he felt the charged atmosphere. Nonetheless, he dove right in.

"Hathaway, man, you keep expecting the worst of me when it comes to women, even though you've only been right once."

Clenched teeth: "You ask me to be backup for you and then you go behind my back and do _that_."

"What?! I did _nothing_. _We_ did nothing. It's all in your mind, James, man. You jumped to the wrong conclusion."

"You expect me to believe you were 'just sleeping'? You were both half-naked in the same bed. Her hands were all over you!" Hathaway glowered at him.

Lewis bit back the first six responses that popped into his head. "Aye, man, _just sleeping_. Very middle-aged, that." He added, shaking his head, "She just had her arm on me."

The vehemence and volume were tapering off, but Hathaway was not yet willing to back down.

"So that's enough for you, old man? 'Just sleeping' in the same bed with my mother?" His fingers drew the quotation marks in the air.

Though sorely tempted, Lewis refused to respond with anger. _I should smack you for that, you cheeky sod. But I know this isn't easy for you._

They stared at each other a minute longer.

Finally, Lewis took a big breath and stepped back, his voice low. "Hathaway, is this going to be a problem between us? Honestly?" _If I have to choose, you know you'll win_.

Hathaway inhaled and then accepted the olive branch. "Honestly, I'm not sure I can get used to it." He considered a while. "Sorry about the 'old man' thing."

"Yeah, that was cheap. You owe me." When Hathaway didn't disagree, Lewis pushed his luck, grinning wickedly. "So how about telling me who you were with when I interrupted you?"

"Oh, no, Sir. That is not an even trade."

"You know I'll find out anyway. It's a small world here."

No answer.

"Carruthers."

James looked horrified. "Never!"

"Holland."

"She rejected me over a year ago."

"Martin."

Hathaway just looked disgusted and shook his head.

"Lindsay."

"Lindsay doesn't like men."

"Seriously? I didn't know that."

"Well, Sir, with all due respect, you can be pretty oblivious."

Lewis couldn't argue with that.

"Macklin."

"I _wish_. She won't give me the time of day."

"Blimey, Hathaway, I didn't realize how few choices there are here. And both of us competing for the same pool."

Hathaway rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't say that, Sir. Whatever it is you're doing, it can hardly be called 'competing.'"

"Hey!" But Lewis resumed his quest. "Is it someone in CID?"

"Nope."

"Ah. Traffic?"

"It's good your skill at detecting criminals is better than your skill at detecting good-looking, available women. There are _none_ in Traffic."

"Ouch! Um . . . Vice?"

"I suppose you were bound to get it eventually. Not too many more divisions left."

Lewis ran through the female vice officers in his head.

"It's never Lizzy Haines!"

Hathaway broke into a smug smile.

"She must be a good ten years older than you!"

"So?"

Lewis looked reflective. "I could do her meself."

Hathaway stared. "You _wouldn't_!"

"No, I wouldn't, Hathaway. Just like I wouldn't do your mother unless I was certain you didn't mind, okay?"

Hathaway glared at first, then silently conceded the truth of what Lewis was saying, nodding his head. "Okay."

* * *


	22. Chapter 22

Within a day or two, the partners were past the awkwardness the weekend had engendered, and by Friday things were back to normal. It had been a slow week of annual performance reviews, and Lewis had made Hathaway write up most of the ones for the DCs. It left him free in the evenings, and he ended up having rather lengthy, soul-searching telephone conversations with Louise on Tuesday and Wednesday. Mainly, they talked about her, and her new-found trust of men; the subject of their simmering relationship was not raised. But Lewis felt a happy buzz when they rang off on Tuesday, and after he put the phone down on Wednesday, he felt not just happiness, but a more primal tingle that made him decide to press the issue with James the next day.

But he didn't need to broach the subject. Hathaway opened the conversation himself, allowing as how he'd decided he could live with the idea of Lewis and his mother having a physical relationship, as long as he didn't have to witness it firsthand.

"You know, Sir, she's on the board of that gallery in the West End that's having an opening on Saturday. She'll have to be there. Why don't you go and surprise her?"

Lewis snapped up the idea, and even went to London early on Saturday to buy himself a new tie for the occasion. During the train ride into the city, he practiced in his head what he would say to her until it sounded just right.

At last it was time for the event, and he found his way to the gallery with little trouble. He made his way in and took a flute of champagne while he got his bearings in the crowd. He felt as if he were floating. At last he spotted her and worked his way through the crowd.

She was talking to a tall, slender man with a salt-and-pepper mustache, and just as Lewis came up behind her, she took the man's arm and kissed him rather passionately. Half a second later, she saw Lewis standing there. She didn't seem to notice that he'd just gotten kicked in the guts.

"Oh, Robbie, what a surprise! This is Sir Oliver Jeffries, he serves on the board of this gallery with me. I was just telling him how much you helped me." She turned to the man. "This is Robert Lewis."

"Mister Lewis. My pleasure."

"Sir Oliver." Lewis felt as if he needed to hold on to something, but there was nothing, certainly not Louise's lovely, slender, bare arm.

She chatted at Lewis, happily. "You know, if you hadn't convinced me that there _are_ men who can be trusted to behave honorably, men who are gentle and kind, I would have declined Sir Oliver's invitation to dinner last night, and look what I would have missed!" She kissed Sir Oliver's hand.

"That's wonderful, Louise, I'm so happy for you." That had to be someone else saying the words; Lewis was sure he couldn't speak.

"You're such dear, Robbie. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's someone I simply _must_ make welcome." She bussed him gently on the cheek and, taking Sir Oliver by the hand, rushed off through the crowd.

He was halfway to the train station before he realized he still had the champagne flute in his hand, holding it by the bowl, rather than the stem. He stared at it and slowly squeezed it until it shattered.

On the train ride back, he managed to pull out his mobile one-handedly. Several miles went by before he resolved to call Hathaway.

"Hey, James, are you doing anything?"

"Uh, no, I'm not." Not at all true, but the choked quality of Lewis's voice made him instantly decide to call back his bandmates and cancel out of their plans to hit the new pub in Woodstock. "What's up?"

"My train gets in at 10:42 and I need a ride 'cos I kind of cut my hand." He had stanched the bleeding with paper towels from the train station loo but it had not completely stopped, and there were still numerous pieces of glass in his palm. It stung like hell.

Hathaway immediately picked up on all the signs of catastrophe. "I'll be there, Sir."

And he was. He took Lewis back to his place, peeled away the bloody paper towels, washed his hand, picked out as much glass as he could with tweezers, and administered a heavy dose of acetaminophen. He did not ask, and Lewis did not volunteer, anything about what happened. Deciding that stitches were not necessary, he gently dressed Lewis's hand with antibiotic cream and wrapped it with gauze.

Hathaway poured them each a generous whisky and they sat on his sofa, silent for a while.

At last, Lewis spoke.

"Hathaway, why is it you're the one who has the dream about knives but I'm the one who ends up getting cut?"

"I wouldn't put much stock in dreams, Sir."

Lewis smiled ruefully. "That is _excellent_ advice, Sergeant. Here's to paying more attention to the advice you give me. Cheers." He clinked his glass against Hathaway's and they both earnestly drank to the toast.

* * * *


End file.
